


Life As A Revolutionary Badass

by Gal_In_The_Public_Eye (Enjolras_The_Survivor)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2019-11-03 22:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17886257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolras_The_Survivor/pseuds/Gal_In_The_Public_Eye
Summary: A girl in the rev war @ Valley Forge & beyond.





	1. Badass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tweedle_lee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedle_lee/gifts), [Schuyler_Peculiar_Sisters (Peculiar_Hamiltrash)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peculiar_Hamiltrash/gifts).



> I promise I will update if you like it but it's probably a one-shot. This was begun as a tutoring exercise (I get help with my English Langlit) but has developed into a fanfic. Herc never had a sister in real life. Blachley-Webb is pronounced Blacklee Web  
> I looked up the stuff about the receipt - it's sort-of-true (look it up - https://founders.archives.gov/?q=%20Author%3A%22Mulligan%2C%20Hercules%22&s=1111311111&r=1)

1776\. New York City.  
We had only stopped to use the restroom and get a drink. As I reached the bottom of my tankard, an idea struck. Why shouldn't I disguise myself and join the Continental Army, fighting for our freedom?

“Excuse me, I must wash myself of the journey's grime,” I humbly excused myself. However, I didn't go to where my chaperone expected. I went straight to the deserted laundry and stole a pair of breeches, boots and a chemise. The army would provide my jacket. I also took a pair of scissors – hair is a woman's glory but women are “too weak and feeble” to fight, according to my brave and glorious brother, the tailor and spy, Hercules Mulligan.

Later, around 5.30am, as the world woke up, I was in a carriage clattering its way over cobbles. To my left was the Hudson, snaking through the state, following its path to Canada. If I looked out the other side of this infernal jolting vehicle, the conifers whispered to each other in the summer breeze, telling ancient battle secrets and gambling on the outcome of the war.

In the hot August sun, my legs felt sticky and clammy against the heavy canvas of my newly filched breeches. At the registration tent, I was barked at by an overworked aide-de-camp (he was wearing a green riband across his midriff). “NAME!”  
“Isaac Mulligan, Sir!” I replied, quickly changing Isabella to be more masculine. The rest of the interview passed in a blur of shouted orders and ended with a jacket and musket being shoved over the writing desk at me. "YOUR QUARTERS ARE OVER THERE AND THE MESS TENT IS OVER THERE! WE'LL TELL YOU WHEN YOUR MEALS ARE AFTER YOU'RE GIVEN A REGIMENT!" I walked towards my quarters with my ears ringing, only to discover there was already someone there. Shit. I'd forgotten that there would be tentshares. The man perched on the bed nearest the door looked about my age, maybe a little younger. As I went to put my carpet bag down, he rose and held out his hand. "Alexander Hamilton, hi." So this is the man that pays my brother - I saw it on a receipt for his wages once. "I'm Isaac. Isaac Mulligan." I shook his hand firmly - it was rough, presumably because of the amount of time he spent outside. "Do you want to come and meet the others? They'll be at the bar right now." I accepted his invitation, desperate to look like a real soldier and not just a reckless girl.

At the bar, Hamilton gestured to the landlady to bring us a couple of shots. She brought four over, saying his friends were on their way. I heard snatches of slurred song. Twisting uncomfortably in my seat, I saw two young men, one of them barely old enough to be drinking. I took my tumbler and tried to down it, like the others were doing but choked on the first mouthful. "Hahahahaha! Thish one'sh a lightweight" slurred the youngest of Hamilton's mates, clearly drunk. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I can hold my alcohol as well as my brother." The mention of my brother distracted them momentarily and - I think, I hope - slightly impressed them, once they learned who he was. We spent a long time at the bar, continuing to have shots (I could down them like a proper soldier now) until the sound of the bossy aide-de-camp could be heard, coming closer. Uh-oh. My breathing quickened. "Are you OK?" John Laurens politely asked, having abstained from the rounds for a few hours. I told him to say something helpful or shut the f*** up. I knew a lot of curse words from listening to Herc arguing with Hugh. Alex looked over and giggled at my evident distress. "Blachley-Webb still doesn't have an 'indoor voice' - I trained with him." After what seemed like an eternity of panic, Blachley-Webb roared "YOUR REGIMENT IS THE 5TH FIELD ARTILLERY - MEALS NOW!". Hamilton and I both rose (great, I was stuck with this indiscriminate buffoon for the foreseeable future). At the tent, a ladle of some brownish slop was unceremoniously dumped in our wooden bowls.


	2. Chapter 2

The slop tasted like a cat had thrown up on a horse, but at least it was hot. I say hot, lukewarm or tepid would have been better phrasing. Insolently, Hamilton laughed at what I assumed was a disgusted look on my face. "Hey, you must'a been rich before all this. It's goat, maybe horse, pretty nice if you ask me." I could feel rage rising in me. I grunted, a non committal response. What regiment were the others in? Alexander had finally shut up. "Hello, Rich Boy? (Oh, great. He's off again.) Did you hear me? We might be lucky tonight. There's talk of a bath for the aides or rather, those aides who are more esteemed by His Excellency, General George Washington. I can persuade him to let you in as well." The way he said this it was a statement, not a question. The thought of being naked in a bathtub wasn't one I was willing to entertain. "No. Colonel Hamilton, with the greatest respect, no." He continued to tease me with that soldier's banter. Maybe he was alright, he did stop when I asked him to. That time, at least.


End file.
